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" toinncinm.n~i 












Rhamon 

















A Boy of Kashmir 


HELUIZ WASHBURNE 

W 



Pictured by 


ROGER DUVOISIN 


JUNIOR PRESS BOOKS 

albertX^hitman 

4co 

CHICAGO 

1939 


*■ 




Copyright, 1939, by 
Albert Whitman & Company 


©ci A 




Lithographed in the U.S.A. 


132784 




OCT 23 1939 



CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Fishing . . 17 

Cooking Supper . 22 

Making a Garden. 27 

A Trip to the City. 33 

Thieves . 41 

The Monarch . 47 

The Garden of Happiness 53 

The Big River 62 

Celebration for the Rajah. 70 

Wonderful News . 79 

A Mountain Storm 85 

The Fire-Breathing Monster . 91 

Rhamon Delivers the Perfume Jar. 95 

An Exciting Day in the Bazaar 100 

Snake Charmers .110 

All Is Well for Rhamon 116 

Going Home with the Road Gang 120 






















FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGE 

Rhamon .:. Frontispiece 

On the river were little houseboats. 19 

She put a pot of rice over the burning coals. 23 

Slowly the boat would move forward, pulling the 

garden behind . 31 

They passed boats of every description. 35 

Rhamon climbed after his father up some dark 

and narrow stairs. 39 

Rhamon realized that these men were thieves. 43 

They sent the boat through the water with long, 

swift strokes ..... 51 

“Who made these great gardens, my father?”. 55 

She slid her boat out into the lake again. 59 

The bridge of shops in Srinagar. 62 

He was working on a large tray. 67 

Strung high up was the word WELCOME . 75 

Subro was smoking his hubble-bubble pipe. 83 
















ILLUSTRATIONS — ( Continued ) 


Lightning ripped the sky apart. 87 

Crowds of people passed him coming and going. 103 

The trickster was making the flames shoot out 

from his lips. 107 

Subro picked Rhamon up in his arms. 123 







To 

A courageous young boy 
in the Vale of Kashmir 



* 





I 






































Chapter I 
FISHING 


R HAMON was fishing. Squatting careless¬ 
ly on a narrow board that reached from 
the window of the houseboat to the river bank, 
he dropped his line into the clear water beneath. 
In the dark shadows of the overhanging bushes 
he could see the flash of a silvery fish as it 
glided past. 



17 


Rhamon was a small brown-skinned Indian 
boy. He had a little twisted foot, so he limped 
when he walked. But no one noticed his limp 
because Rhamon was always smiling. And 
when he smiled his big, brown eyes danced and 
his white teeth sparkled. His clothes were not 
very fine, but he wore a splendid turban, made 
of many yards of white cotton cloth, wound 
around and around his head. 

Rhamon had spent all his life in the beauti¬ 
ful Valley of Kashmir, high up in the Himalaya 
Mountains. Happy Valley it was called, for here 
was a clear lake with many fish. Bright-col¬ 
ored birds flitted through the trees, fruits of all 
kinds grew on the grassy slopes, sweet-smelling 
flowers dotted the fields. And piled up on all 
sides were the mighty mountains. 

A great old river wound its way through the 
narrow valley. Where the ground was low the 
river flooded over it and ran along in little wind¬ 
ing canals. Small trees grew on the marshy 
banks and made feathery lace-like patterns 


18 


gjBMnaiaaM 



On the river were little houseboats 





against the blue sky. On the lake, the river, 
and the canals were little houseboats where peo¬ 
ple lived. Rhamon’s home was one of these 
houseboats on the water. It was not a large 
houseboat, and the roof was only a thick layer 
of woven reeds. Inside, it was barely high 
enough for his father to stand up straight with¬ 
out bumping his head. Ever since he could re¬ 
member, Rhamon had been able to run along 
the narrow boards that stretched the length of 
the boat just outside the windows, and he had 
never fallen into the water. 

Rhamon’s father, Subro, was squatting on the 
deck of the houseboat, enjoying the sunshine 
and smoking his big water pipe that stood on 
the floor before him. As he puffed, the water 
in the glass jar bubbled and gurgled. And the 
blue smoke curled and twisted in the lazy 
breeze. Subro was a tall dark man with a black 
curly beard. He wore long white clothes that 
rustled as he walked. When he was angry his 
brown eyes were dark and fiery, but now as he 


20 


smiled at Rhamon they twinkled and were full 
of fun. 

Fishing was good today. Rhamon gave his 
pole a jerk, and up came a little silvery fish, 
twisting and wiggling and glittering in the sun¬ 
light. In went the hook again and up came an¬ 
other fish. And then another! Rhamon grew 
excited, for he had never known the fish to bite 
so fast. It wouldn’t be long, he thought, before 
he had a good pailful all ready for supper. 

He threw in his line again and waited. Soon 
he felt a fish take hold. He would land this fel¬ 
low in a hurry. He gave a big jerk, and—splash! 
over he went backwards, line, fish and all! Subro 
jumped to his feet and ran to the rescue. When 
Rhamon was dragged to the deck, his turban 
was over one ear, and his clothes were wet and 
soggy. But his eyes were twinkling and his 
white teeth showed in a merry grin. 




Chapter II 

COOKING SUPPER 

Rhamon’s mother quickly stripped off his 
wet clothes and wrapped him in a warm blan¬ 
ket. Then he made himself comfortable in a. 
corner of the houseboat and watched her cook 
the evening meal over a little charcoal fire. 

First she lit one or two small pieces of char¬ 
coal and blew on them until they were glowing 


22 











I 



She put a pot of rice over the burning coals 





red. Then she placed other pieces on top and 
kept on blowing. Soon the fire was going and 
she put a pot of rice over the burning coals. 

Rhamon’s mother was little and very pretty. 
Her large dark eyes were half shaded by long, 
black lashes. Big silver rings were fastened 
through her ears, and from these hung many 
silver bangles that touched her shoulders. She 
wore heavy silver bracelets around her slender 
wrists. 

Below her baggy white trousers silver anklets 
clinked when she walked. She even wore rings 
on her toes, for she always went barefoot. While 
she worked she sang, and Rhamon loved to lis¬ 
ten. Her voice made music like the soft lapping 
of the water and the throbbing song of the 
bulbul bird. 

While the rice was boiling, Rhamon’s mother 
made the chupatties for supper. She pulled off a 
little wad of the dough she had mixed, and 
spread it out into a thin round cake. Then she 
rolled it up, twisted the roll around and patted 


24 


it out flat once more. It was ready to be cooked 
then, so she dropped it on a dry hot griddle and 
set it over the fire. When the fire grew low she 
added more charcoal and blew on it to keep it 
hot. While the first chupatti was cooking she 
rolled out the next one. But always she watched 
the one on the fire. When it began to curl around 
the edge and turn brown, she quickly flopped 
it over to cook on the other side. 

Rhamon liked these hot cnupatties , and it made 
him hungry to smell them cooking. When sup¬ 
per was ready his mother set a tray before him 
on the floor. On it were a bowl of rice, a plate 
of the fish Rhamon had caught, and a second 
bowl filled with curded milk. Using his fingers 
and bits of chupatti to scoop up his food, he soon 
had finished it all. Subro, squatting beside him 
on the floor, had another tray. And while they 
ate, Rhamon’s mother cooked more chupatties. 

That night when the sun went down, Rhamon 
watched the mountains change from gold to 
deep rose, then purple. And finally as night 


25 


crept over the valley, they seemed to be draped 
in velvety blackness. Then he watched the stars 
come out one by one in the dark sky. Rhamon 
never felt alone when the stars were shining*. 
The big* moon slid up from behind the moun¬ 
tains and made a yellow path across the water 
to his very window. 

Lying in his narrow bed, Rhamon listened to 
the night sounds—the evening call of the bulbul, 
the splash of the water against the boat, and the 
cry of the heron from the reed beds in the river. 
Before he went to sleep he watched for the one 
light that gleamed from a lonely temple on the 
top of a nearby hill. 




Chapter III 

MAKING A GARDEN 

In the morning* when Rhamon looked out of 
his window, he could see all around him the 
great peaks of the Himalaya Mountains. There 
were rows and rows of them, one beyond the 
other, till the last ones seemed like purple shad¬ 
ows in the distance. 

In the winter they were snow-covered and 


27 


dazzling in the sunlight. In the early spring 
the lower slopes were brown, and long white 
fingers of snow reached down their rocky sides. 
Sometimes they were bathed in rain and their 
tops were lost in the billowy clouds. Now they 
had turned a soft green, and pink and white fruit 
trees blossomed at their feet. 

Rhamon loved to watch the morning sunlight 
paint the snowcaps in magic colors and creep 
down the mountainsides to light the valley. 

Looking deep into the water, Rhamon 
thought there must be two worlds—the right- 
side-up world where the mountains and trees 
stretched up into the sky, and the upside-down 
world which he glimpsed in the water, moun¬ 
tains and trees reaching downward. 

Through the window Rhamon could see 
Subro working on the family patch of floating 
garden. Ever since Rhamon could remember, 
a garden had floated beside their houseboat, but 
he was very proud of this one because he had 
helped his father to make it. 


28 


First Subro had dragged the mud up from 
the bottom of the lake with long tongs. Then 
Rhamon had helped him mix the mud with 
twigs and shape it into big round clumps. They 
had let these dry in the sun. Later, when they 
had enough of them, they had bound the clumps 
together with long reeds to make a sort of raft. 
Now the garden was all finished, and ready to 
be planted. 

So it would not drift away, Subro had stuck 
a great pole through it down into the muddy 
bottom of the lake. But if Subro grew tired of 
the river and the friendly little canals and wished 
to move his floating home to some more open 
spot, he could also move this floating garden. 
He would just take up the pole that held it fast 
and tie a rope around one end of the garden. 
The other end of the rope he would fasten to a 
ring in the deck of the houseboat. 

Rhamon had often helped his father move 
their boat out into the lake. Standing at the 
front of the houseboat Subro would take a long 


29 


pole and sink one end away down to the bot¬ 
tom of the river. Then, putting his shoulder 
against the pole, he would lean forward and 
shove and shove while walking along the boards 
toward the back end of the boat. 

Slowly the boat would move forward, pulling 
the garden behind. Then he would take the 
pole out and go to the front, shove it in again 
and once more walk the length of the boat. 
Rhamon’s pole was lighter than his father's, but 
he would follow along behind him, pushing with 
all his strength. 

After a long time of poling like this the boat 
would be out in the big Dal Lake. Then Subro 
would always say, “Be careful, my son. The 
water here is very deep in places." And Rha- 
mon would laugh. He would not fall in! 

This morning Subro was planting cucumbers 
and melons in the garden. As soon as Rhamon 
had finished his breakfast, he ran out to help 
his father before the sun grew hot. 

They worked until all the seeds were planted. 


30 



Slowly the boat would move forward, pulling the 
garden behind 







Then Subro looked up and said, “This morning 
I am going to the city. Would you like to go 
with me, Rhamon?” A broad smile was Rha- 
mon’s only answer, as he dashed for the house¬ 
boat to get his sandals and rewind his turban. 





Chapter IV 

A TRIP TO THE CITY 
Subro had a small, flat boat called a shikar a. 
He kept it tied to his houseboat. It was long 
and narrow, pointed at the ends, and lay close 
to the water. Instead of oars, it had long-han¬ 
dled paddles with heart-shaped ends. Subro used 
it to visit his friends on other houseboats or to 
go to the city of Srinagar. Usually he paddled 
it himself, but when he was in a hurry he took 
his brothers Ibrahim and Ramzana to help him. 

33 





This morning he was taking his son. When 
Rhamon came out he jumped down into the 
back end of the shi\ara beside his father. Taking 
up their paddles they worked together with long 
quick strokes. Each stroke ended with a jerk 
that shot the boat forward through the water. 

Rhamon made up his mind that when he was 
a man he would have his very own shikar a —a 
splendid big one with fine carving, soft cush¬ 
ions inside and a place for six oarsmen. 

On their way down the river they passed 
boats of every description. There were shi\aras 
like their own, skimming swiftly over the water, 
merchant boats, dugouts loaded with vegetables, 
slow-gliding grain barges, and some being poled 
along by a man or woman who stood balancing 
far out on the tip. 

Rhamon enjoyed these trips with his father 
to Srinagar. There was much to see and do 
there, and today he had a few annas to spend for 
sweets in the bazaars. Subro took his bubbling 
water pipe with him, for he was sure to meet 


34 



They passed boats of every description 









his friends in the city. They would smoke and 
visit together before he returned. 

Rhamon had his friends too. First he went 
to see Aziz, the old shoemaker, who had the 
little shop on the corner. Aziz made beautiful 
red leather slippers with curving pointed toes. 
Rhamon loved the nice leathery smell and the 
smooth feel of the big, colored skins that hung 
on the wall. He stayed a long time with the 
old man, listening to the stories he wove as he 
made wonderful patterns on a pair of shoes. 

“These are for our great Rajah, the King,” 
said Aziz, holding up the slippers and looking 
at them proudly. “He is coming here soon to 
his summer palace. There will be a great cele¬ 
bration in his honor. People will take him gifts 
of welcome. And these shall be my present. 
Allah be praised!” 

The Rajah coming! The great King who lived 
in the beautiful palace! Rhamon stood silent. 
All his life he had heard of the Rajah. He wished 
he might see him—just once. 


36 


As Rhamon turned to limp from the shop, 
the old shoemaker smiled at him. “Some day,” 
he said, “I shall make you a pair of slippers, and 
not even a king shall have a better pair!” 

Before Subro returned to his home, he took 
Rhamon to the house of Subhanna, a rich mer¬ 
chant who lived down the river. The upper 
floors of Subhanna’s big house hung out over 
the water and when Rhamon leaned from the 
high windows, he could see all that was hap¬ 
pening on the water below. 

Subhanna made beautiful articles out of sil¬ 
ver. But he sold many other things besides the 
ones he made himself. There were shelves and 
shelves of bells, big elephant bells that made a 
deep “C-L-I-N-G, C-L-A-N-G” as the great 
beasts walked. There were pretty brass camel 
bells and even tiny tinkly ones for the goats that 
clambered on the mountainsides. 

Rhamon saw an immense silver bowl standing 
on the table in one corner. Its handles were set 
with bits of gold and precious stones. 


37 


“This is a rare treasure,” said Subhanna, 
touching it gently. “The Rajah is coming soon 
to his summer palace. There will be a great 
procession on the river, and hundreds of boats. 
People will bring him presents. And I shall 
take him this feasting bowl.” 

Rhamon sighed and turned to look at an old 
black gong that hung by the door. From a far¬ 
away temple it had come, where once it called 
the people to their prayers. Rhamon took up 
the padded stick and struck it. “Boo-o-o-o-o-o- 
o-o-o-o-o-o-m-m-m-m!” The great sound filled 
the room and seemed to echo from every wall. 
The frightened birds on the windowsill spread 
their wings and flew away to quieter places. 

Rhamon climbed after his father up some 
dark and narrow stairs to still higher rooms. 
The steps were steep and made of rough stone 
and earth. On every floor were rooms and 
rooms filled with old and precious goods, but 
all of them were grey with dust. Subro wished 
to see one of the copper bowls. 


38 



Rhamon climbed after his father up some dark 
and narrow stairs 






Subhanna clapped his hands to call a servant. 
Then the servant came with charcoal dust and 
water. Sitting on his heels on the floor he 
mixed these into a paste and spread it all over 
the bowl. Then he rubbed and rubbed with his 
hands until the copper sparkled and shone. 
Many bowls and vases the servant polished in 
this way for Subro. But before they left, Subro 
had finally bought a beautiful great perfume 
jar, made of copper worked with many colors. 

“For whom do you buy that wondrous jar, 
my father?’’ asked Rhamon, as they paddled off 
in their shi\ara. 

But Subro only smiled. Some day his son 
would know. 

All the way home Rhamon was silent. He 
was looking ahead to the coming of the Rajah. 
If only he could think of some way by which 
he might see the great procession of boats on 
the river! 


40 



Chapter V 
THIEVES 

Late the next afternoon Rhamon was sitting 
on the narrow walk that ran around the out¬ 
side of the houseboat. He was feeling happy, 
for his mother had just given him a freshly 
cooked chupatti wrapped about a bit of meat. As 
he munched it he dabbled his toes in the wa¬ 
ter and listened to the distant chiming of a 
temple bell. A mist hung over the river and 
the sun had almost set. 


41 


Suddenly he saw two men coming up the 
river, poling their boat very slowly and looking 
from side to side. Rhamon knew all the men 
of his own little village, but these were stran¬ 
gers. He wondered what they were doing, why 
they were going so slowly and looking around 
so carefully. He decided to watch them. 

In a moment he saw them slide up beside a 
big piece of floating garden. Rhamon knew 
that it belonged to his neighbors who were 
away on a picnic across the lake. One of the 
men pulled out the long pole that held it in 
place. The other tied a big rope to one end of 
the garden. Suddenly Rhamon realized that 
these men were thieves from another village, 
come to carry away the garden. 

Stuffing the last bit of chupatti into his mouth, 
Rhamon jumped quickly from his seat and 
slipped into the shikara that lay alongside the 
walk. In a moment he had untied the rope that 
held it to the houseboat. Soon he was shooting 
down the river toward the city of Srinagar. 


42 



Rhamon realized that these men were thieves 




When he looked back he saw the men slowly 
poling their boat away. And the garden was 
going with them, back to their own village. 

He paddled with all his strength. At the 
landing by the big bridge, Rhamon pulled the 
boat up on the shore. He must find his uncle, 
the Chief of Police. He hurried down one little 
street, turned a corner and ran up another. His 
foot was beginning to hurt, but he did not stop. 
When he finally reached the office he was al¬ 
most out of breath. “Quick, Uncle, quick!” he 
panted. “Some men are stealing a garden!” 

The big Chief of Police twirled his fierce 
black moustache, and rubbed his nose. Then 
he called loudly for two of his men. Rhamon 
shivered at the sound of his voice. It seemed 
to come rumbling up from the soles of his big 
red slippers. Settling his huge turban farther 
on his head, the Chief took Rhamon’s hand and 
started off with long strides. Rhamon could 
hardly keep step with him, but he felt very 
proud. Was he not walking down the streets 


44 


of the city with the Chief of Police? Everyone 
made way for them and salaamed, touching his 
hands to his forehead and bowing low. 

“Jump into my boat,” said his uncle. “We 
shall catch these thieves! My two men will fol¬ 
low in your shikara.” 

Away they sped, paddling swiftly past all 
the other boats. Suddenly Rhamon dropped 
his paddle and pointing up the river, cried, 
“There they are!” By now the thieves had seen 
the police also. Quickly they untied the garden 
they were towing behind them. In another 
minute they had disappeared into one of the 
many little canals. 

“Now we have lost them!” exclaimed the 
Chief of Police, rubbing his big nose. “But by 
the grace of Allah, we shall catch them yet!” 

“By the help of Allah perhaps, but by my 
help, too,” thought Rhamon, for he was sure he 
would know those two men again if ever he 
saw them. 

“And you can be glad you have saved the 


45 


man’s garden, Rhamon,” said his uncle, seeing 
the boy’s disappointment. “You are clever. 
Some day you may be a policeman yourself.” 

“Yes,” thought Rhamon. “Some day I shall 
be a Chief of Police, and have a big moustache 
like my uncle.” 




Chapter VI 
THE MONARCH 


Subro owned five or six of the finest house¬ 
boats on the river. In the summer he often 
rented them to people who came up into the 
mountains from the hot parts of India. The 
most beautiful one of all his houseboats was 
called the Monarch. Subro’s own little house¬ 
boat was anchored not far from this one. So 
Rhamon saw everything that happened on 


47 


board the Monarch. This summer an American 
man and his wife came to live on it. Rhamon 
called them the Sahib and Mem Sahib. When 
they arrived he heard his father say, “Sahib, 
the Monarch is a little floating palace. You shall 
live like a king on that boat.” 

And indeed Rhamon thought so too, for he 
had often been inside. He had felt the soft, 
thick carpets under his little bare feet. He loved 
the pretty colors of the embroideries that hung 
from the windows and covered the beds. And 
he liked to trace with his fingers the patterns 
of the wood carvings around the windows and 
doors. 

Almost every day the river merchants poled 
their boats slowly up alongside the Monarch and 
looked in through the windows. Holding up 
some special treasure they would begin, “Mem 
Sahib will look? In all the world Mem Sahib 
will not find beads like these. Lady Sahib not 
buy, only look!” Their soft voices kept on and 
on until Mem Sahib looked. 


48 


Rhamon loved to talk with these merchants 
and see all the beautiful things they had brought 
to sell to the American Mem Sahib. There 
were soft shawls, gay wool embroideries, dainty 
bits of hand-worked silver, lovely boxes made 
of brass and crushed turquoise, beads and brace¬ 
lets and ■ fine wood carvings. Sometimes the 
merchants came up onto the tiny deck of the 
Monarch. Then Rhamon feasted his eyes on the 
piles of wonderful things that came tumbling 
out of their packs. 

One day the American Sahib and his wife, 
the Mem Sahib, wished to cross the lake to a 
wonderful Persian garden that was known to 
everyone for its beauty. It was called Nishat 
Bagh, the Garden of Happiness. Subro had 
made everything ready for the trip. A beauti¬ 
ful big shi\ara floated beside the Monarch. It was 
long and slim and its carved prow rose grace¬ 
fully out of the water. An awning was stretched 
over the middle part of the boat to keep off the 
hot sun. Hanging from this were little white 


49 


side curtains, gay with bright red embroidery. 

The Sahib and Mem Sahib stepped down in¬ 
side and settled themselves on the big springy 
cushions. Bundles of lunch were stowed in the 
bottom of the boat. Subro’s brothers, Ibrahim 
and Ramzana, and two other boatmen climbed 
into the back part. Rhamon was not going to be 
left behind, so he scrambled over the edge and 
took his place beside them. Picking up their 
paddles, they sent the boat through the water 
with long swift strokes. 

Rhamon loved to help. Although his paddle 
was smaller than the men’s, he could work as 
well as any of them. He never missed a stroke 
and his black eyes danced with delight. 

Slender willow trees lined the banks of the 
tiny canals through which they wound their way. 
Ducks were paddling in the water. On the bank 
a wedding party was feasting and merry-mak¬ 
ing. Other boats glided quickly past them. In 
one a boy had a load of tree branches he had 
cut for the family hre. In another an old man 


SO 




They sent the boat through the water with long , 
swift strokes 



squatted out on the front tip, lazily smoking 
his hubble-bubble pipe. Sometimes the boats 
were poled by women dressed in ragged clothes, 
wearing many silver bracelets and heavy ear¬ 
rings. 

When Rhamon rested from his paddling he 
liked to trail his hands in the cool water or pull 
up the pink and white water lilies that floated 
on the river. He could see their long stems 
through the clear water reaching down, down 
to the muddy bottom. 




The boat came out of the river and crossed 
the big lake to the Garden of Happiness. Here 
it was made fast and everyone jumped out. 
Rhamon wanted to skip and dance, for he had 
never seen anything so lovely. Fruit trees were 
in bloom everywhere, standing white against 
the background of rough brown mountains; as 
if the snow from the highest peaks had blown 
down and settled on their branches, he thought. 
S3 


Forgetting his lame foot, he ran limping along 
the great stretches of green grass, stopping to 
smell of the purple and yellow pansies that grew 
on the borders. He looked at his reflection in 
the pools of clear water, felt the spray of the 
sparkling fountains on his face, and laughed for 

joy- 

Then he saw Subro coming up the path and 
asked him, “Who made these great gardens, my 
father?” 

Subro answered, “Long ago, there was a 
noble Emperor named Jahanjir. He had a wife 
whom he loved with all his heart. To please 
her he made this beautiful garden. And here 
they often came to spend happy hours together. 
Players and singers filled the air with music. 
Dancing girls entertained them, slaves waited 
on them. And so it is called the Garden of Hap¬ 
piness.” 

A golden butterfly fluttered in the rainbow 
mist of the fountain and Rhamon started to¬ 
ward it. 


54 



“Who made these great gardens, my father?” 







“Come now,” called Subro, “and help unpack 
the lunch.” 

Rhamon ran back to the boat, and a big sil¬ 
ver teapot was placed in his arms. He carried 
it up the path between the rows of giant Chenar 
trees, and stopped in the shade of one, bigger 
than all the others. Here spring beauties 
bloomed in the grass and made a pink and white 
carpet on which to set out the lunch. 

“You were here when the Great Emperor 
came to this garden,” thought Rhamon, look¬ 
ing up at the king of trees. “Your spreading 
branches kept him cool when the sun was hot, 
as they will keep us cool today. And if it rains, 
not a drop will fall between your thick leaves 
to wet us.” 

Ibrahim brought up a big cake and Ramzana 
came with bundles of sandwiches. The others 
brought more things, and soon the feast was 
ready. 

There was good food for Rhamon to eat too, 
sweet cakes and a cup of warm tea. He took 


56 


them back to the boat and sat there enjoying 
them. The cool breeze ruffled his hair and the 
warm sun beat on his back. 

Soon another shikara slid slowly up beside him. 
It was poled by a little girl, and in the far front 
end sat her baby brother. Her dark hair was 
braided in with heavy black yarn to make it 
thicker, and hung far down her back in many 
pigtails. She wore large silver earrings and a 
tiny embroidered cap. 

The little girl’s big black eyes gazed longing¬ 
ly at the cake Rhamon was eating. She did not 
say a word, but Rhamon guessed what she 
wanted. He looked at his cake. It was not 
often he had a treat like this. And he had been 
eating it slowly to make it last. Then he looked 
into the little girl’s dark eyes. Breaking his 
cake in half, he put a piece into her eager hand. 

Then his heart was glad, for suddenly her 
face broke into a shy smile showing a row of 
white teeth. She stuffed the bit of cake into her 
mouth as if she were afraid Rhamon would ask 


57 


to have it back. Then pushing the long pole 
deep into the water she slid her boat out into 
the lake again. 

It was nearly dark when the party started 
home. Rhamon watched the sunset colors chang¬ 
ing on the snowy mountains. As night came on 
he tried to count the stars reflected in the black 
water. The boat slid silently past the shadowy 
trees. Tiny lights appeared in the houseboats 
anchored by the shores. Sometimes the good 
smell of food cooking for the evening meal made 
Rhamon sniff and wrinkle up his little nose. 
He would like a big dish of spicy curry and some 
fluffy white rice. 

How quiet everything was! Hardly a leaf 
stirred in the trees. There was no sound but 
the swi-i-i-w/ 2 ! swi-i-«A! swi-i-i-zVA! of the paddles 
and the drip of the water as it fell away from 
the blades. 

Suddenly the stillness was broken by the rich 
voice of one of the boatmen. It was Ibrahim, 
singing an old Kashmir boat song. One by one 


58 









She slid her boat out into the lake again 








the others joined him. Rhamon sang too, his 
voice rising clear and sweet above the men’s 
deeper ones. Soon the night air was throbbing 
with the music. Then with his hands Subro 
began to beat the rhythm of the song on the 
side of the boat. Another boatman drummed 
on his paddle laid across his knees. 

Sometimes their voices swelled to great shouts 
of joy. Then the boat sped swiftly through the 
water from the force of their strokes. But some¬ 
times their song faded to a whisper of sadness 
and there were tears in their singing. Then 
the boat glided slowly through the darkness. 

That evening the men gathered on Subro’s 
little houseboat to sing together. They squatted 
on the floor in a circle and each held something 
to make music—a big red clay pot, a bell or a 
pair of homemade clappers. Ibrahim started a 
song. The others joined in, swaying from side 
to side. Then they began to ring the bells, clap 
the clappers, and beat on the pots. 

Ramzana hit the open top of his pot with the 


60 


palm of one hand, and tapped the rounded side 
with the fingers of the other. It made a hollow 
drumming sound. Subro wore heavy silver rings 
on the ends of his fingers to make the sound 
sharper. 

Rhamon was there too, of course, singing his 
heart out and shaking his head under his huge 
white turban. He loved this strange sweet 
music. He did not have an instrument to play, 
but he beat time on his father’s knee with his 
hands and wrists. “Some day,” he thought, “I 
shall be a man and then I shall play on one of 
the big red pots, and have silver rings on my 
fingers” 






The bridge of shops in Srinagar 







Chapter VIII 
THE BIG RIVER 



Seven great wooden bridges crossed the wide 
river that wound through the Valley. And the 
old, old city of Srinagar was spread along its 
banks. For hundreds of years people had walked 
across these bridges, or driven their wagons over 
them. For hundreds of years river boats of all 
sorts had been passing under them. 




63 






Rickety wooden houses clung to the river 
bank. The water lapped against their base¬ 
ments. Grass and red poppies grew out of their 
mouldy earth-covered roofs. Narrow little 
streets found their crooked way between the 
houses, down to the river’s edge. Here they 
ended in crumbling wide stone steps. 

Many of the streets in this old city were wa¬ 
terways, but the big river was the main street. 
Funny little shops faced the water front. Some 
of them had balconies where the merchants 
hung out their wares. Long strips of brightly 
dyed woolen cloth fluttered in the breeze. Silken 
carpets hung over the railings and glistened in 
the sunlight. 

Here and there a temple or a royal palace 
rose above the tiny shops and dingy houses. 
Just beyond the third bridge and almost tum¬ 
bling into the water stood an old wood-carving 
factory. Here Rharnon came the next morning 
with his father, who was to buy goods for the 
American Sahib. 


64 


There was great excitement all over the city 
of Srinagar this clay. People were talking to¬ 
gether everywhere—girls filling their water jars, 
men passing in boats on the river, women on 
the doorsteps. As Rliamon and his father pad- 
died along they could hear what people said: 

“Have you heard? Our King, the great Rajah, 
arrives tomorrow from his winter palace at 
Jammu. He comes up the river with a big pro¬ 
cession of boats.” 

“Yes. My brother is his chief oarsman, and 
from him I have heard the Rajah has a new boat, 
larger and more beautiful than any before.” 

“For weeks I have seen men working in the 
gardens of the Summer Palace to make things 
ready for his coming.” 

“Tomorrow I shall go early and stand on the 
bridge, that I may see His Highness as the boats 
pass under. I shall be near enough to catch the 
sparkle of the big jewel on the front of his tur¬ 
ban.” 

The shikara was made fast to the landing. Then 


65 


Rhamon and his father climbed up a steep flight 
of steps from the water and entered a dark and 
dingy building. It seemed hundreds of years 
old. An aged man led them between dusty piles 
of wonderful carved wood. 

When Rhamon’s eyes became used to the dim 
light, he saw half-naked men sitting cross-legged 
on the earth floor, busily carving. The boy 
stopped to watch one old man in the doorway. 
He was working on a large tray which he 
propped against the split log that served for a 
table. The pattern was so fine that he used a 
magnifying glass to see what he was doing. 

“My child,” he told Rhamon, “for many 
months have I worked on this tray. But now, 
praise Allah, it is about finished, and it shall be 
given to our King—the great Rajah—as a gift 
from one of his humble subjects.” 

“Everyone is making ready for the coming of 
the Rajah,” thought Rhamon sadly, “everyone 
but me. And I shall not even see him.” 

Going home Rhamon helped his father pad- 


66 






He was working on a large tray 









die the boat. They passed back under the big 
bridges, one by one, gliding into the darkness 
and shooting out again into the golden sunlight. 
Rhamon watched the busy life on the shore and 
listened to the many sounds across the water. 

He saw women coming down to the river’s 
edge with great jars on their shoulders, and he 
heard them laughing and talking as they filled 
these jars with water. 

“Slosh, slosh; whack, whack!” That was the 
laundryman washing his clothes in the river 
and beating them clean against the stone steps. 

“Thud — thud — thud — thud!” That was a 
slow sound that Rhamon knew well, for he heard 
it every day. It came from a group of women 
on the shore who were pounding their rice. He 
watched them as they raised the heavy wooden 
poles and let them fall on the rice in the big 
stone bowls. It was hard and tiresome work. 
Often he wished he were big and strong enough 
to help his mother grind their daily rice. 

The boat slid along and Rhamon did not 


68 


speak. “What troubles you, my son?” asked 
Subro, noticing his silence. 

“Father, I should like to see the Rajah and 
take him a present,” said Rhamon, with a great 
sigh. 

“Allah is wise, and understanding. He is good 
to those who worship him faithfully,” said 
Subro, smiling into his black beard. 

Rhamon did not understand exactly what his 
father meant, but he was sure he had said all 
his prayers. 

When they reached home, Rhamon was 
weary and his foot ached from climbing many 
stairs. So he sat down in his favorite corner to 
watch his mother cook the evening supper. As 
she rolled out the chupatties she sang, and Rha¬ 
mon, listening, dropped off to sleep. He dreamed 
of the great Rajah with the blazing jewel on 
his turban. When his mother gently shook his 
shoulder to wake him for supper, he was happy, 
for in his dream the Rajah had smiled to him, 
to Rhamon, the little lame boy. 


69 



Chapter IX 


CELEBRATION FOR THE RAJAH 
On the great day of celebration there was no 
one in all the city so happy and so excited as 
Rhamon. Allah be praised, he was going to be 
one of the first people on the river to see the 
Maharajah when he arrived in his beautiful 
boat. He could not believe it was true. And all 
because he had told the police about the thieves. 

70 









His uncle was in charge of river traffic this 
day. As Chief of Police it was his duty to see 
that all the small boats kept to one side of the 
river, leaving the other clear for the great 
Rajah’s procession. And Rhamon had been in¬ 
vited to ride with his uncle! 

Not only that, but Rhamon was wearing his 
beautiful rose-colored suit with the gold em¬ 
broidery on it, a splendid new turban, and best 
of all, a pair of fine red slippers with turned-up 
pointed toes—a gift from his friend Aziz, the 
shoemaker. He was fairly bursting with pride 
and happiness. 

The river was alive with boats of every kind. 
Officers and other important people sat in fine 
shikaras, resting back on silken cushions. They 
were on their way to greet the Maharajah be¬ 
fore he entered the city. 

Rhamon sat proudly in the boat with his 
uncle. The Chief of Police looked bigger and 
more important than ever. His turban was 
larger, his uniform was finer and his moustache 


71 


curled more fiercely. Was he not on the Rajah’s 
business today? 

The whole city was in holiday dress to pay 
honor to the Rajah. Bright shawls hung from 
the windows and fluttered in the breeze. Rha- 
mon could read the words on the big banners 
stretched across the houses: “Welcome to the 
great Rajah. Long life to the King.” Even the 
earth roofs of the houses were newly dressed, 
for many of them were covered with fresh grass, 
and the scarlet tulips growing there blazed in 
the sunlight. Flags and colored handkerchiefs 
were waving everywhere and the air was filled 
with cheering. 

The Chief of Police was very busy giving 
orders and Rhamon was very busy watching 
what was happening all around him. Suddenly 
he saw a wonderful sight. Strung high up 
across the river was the word WELCOME in 
huge letters. But the letters seemed to be mov¬ 
ing! Then as his boat came closer, Rhamon 
saw that they were made of real boys clinging 


72 


to the long poles that formed the big letters. 

“Look, Uncle!” he cried. 

“Yes,” replied the Chief of Police. “That is 
the way that their school gives a living welcome 
to the great Rajah.” 

“But if one of them lost his hold he would 
fall in the river!” 

“Would you not gladly take that risk to honor 
your Rajah?” asked the Chief of Police. 

Rhamon slowly nodded his head and they 
paddled on. 

Looking down the glistening river Rhamon 
saw the first boats of the royal procession mov¬ 
ing slowly forward. They were beautiful boats 
with painted sides, embroidered curtains and 
long lines of oarsmen in red uniforms. 

Then Rhamon’s eyes opened wide with won¬ 
der as he saw the great boat of the Rajah gliding 
toward him. It was longer than any boat he had 
ever seen. At the front and the back it rose out 
of the water like the spreading tail of a peacock. 
The central part was a tiny house with beau- 


73 


tiful windows around the sides. Within sat the 
Rajah robed in wonderful colored silks and 
sparkling jewels. 

Rhamon counted the oarsmen on the side of 
the boat nearest him. There were twenty-five 
of them! And he knew there were twenty-five 
on the other side, too. All were dressed in gor¬ 
geous scarlet uniforms. As they rowed, the oars 
on each side moved together like the wings of 
a great bird, now flashing in the sunlight, now 
dipping into the water. 

“My!” thought Rhamon. “I would like to be 
one of those oarsmen. Someday I will be the 
head oarsman, like that one who is telling the 
others what to do. Then I shall take the great 
Rajah for a ride on the lake, for I will be the 
best oarsman in all of Kashmir.” 

Suddenly Rhamon noticed two men in a small 
shi\ara weaving their way among the closely 
packed boats on the river. He sat up with a 
start. Surely he remembered those faces. The 
two men who had stolen the garden! Tugging 


74 



Strung high up was the word WELCOME 















at his uncle’s sleeve, he cried, “The thieves! 
The thieves!” 

“Where?” cried the Chief of Police, twirling 
his moustache furiously, and peering out over 
the crowd. 

“There, just slipping under the bridge,” said 
Rhamon excitedly. 

“Ah,” said his uncle, “they are on no good 
business here today. I will set my men to watch 
them.” And he started paddling swiftly, giving 
orders as he passed. 

Rhamon forgot about the thieves then, in 
watching the great procession which was com¬ 
ing closer and closer. Slowly the royal boats 
slid past the leaning houses, where faces peered 
from every window; past the steps on the wa¬ 
ter’s edge, filled with people; and under the 
crowded bridge. 

When the Palace was reached the Rajah’s 
great boat stopped and all the other boats of 
his procession stopped, too. Hundreds of small 
boats circled and crowded around the Palace 


76 


steps. Everyone was eager for a glimpse of the 
great Rajah. Then with one movement, the 
Rajah’s fifty oarsmen stood their paddles up 
on end, making two rows of hearts down the 
length of the boat. 

The Rajah was about to land. Now the peo¬ 
ple came bearing their gifts. With a beating 
heart Rhamon watched the beautiful things that 
were laid at his feet, a Tug with colors that 
glowed like jewels, silken scarfs, soft rich wools, 
the beautiful tray made by the old wood carver, 
Subhanna’s silver bowl with the gold and tur¬ 
quoise handles. And there was Aziz bringing 
his splendid slippers. 

Rhamon looked down at his own beautiful 
ones and remembered the words Aziz had 
spoken, “Not even a king shall have a better 
pair.” 

At this moment the police boat nosed in to¬ 
ward the steps. Rhamon saw the chance he 
had been waiting for and reached for something 
hidden under the seat. He had no fine present 


77 


to give; only a wreath of little yellow flowers 
he had made that morning. 

As the Rajah stepped ashore Rhamon tossed 
the garland at his feet. The great man smiled 
a greeting to all his people. Then, seeing the 
wreath, he turned toward Rhamon and looking 
straight into his brown eyes, smiled again. 
Rhamon saw the great jewel sparkling on his 
turban and the strings of precious stones across 
his coat. 

Then the Rajah walked slowly up the steps 
into the Palace followed by his officers. Gradu¬ 
ally all the little boats turned and went on up 
the river. Rhamon sighed. The great day was 
over. But it had been one he would never for¬ 
get. His dream had come true. The Rajah had 
smiled to him! 




Chapter X 


WONDERFUL NEWS 

Several days later Rhamon was seated on the 
deck of the Monarch whittling out a top from a 
piece of hard root. Beside him sat the American 
Sahib, from whom he had borrowed the knife 
he was using. It was a beautiful knife—shiny 
and sharp—and the chips flew fast. 

“Tell me more of the big cities, please, Sahib,” 
said Rhamon. 

The Sahib smiled and told him again of the 


79 


fine houses, the wide streets and the big steam 
trains that tore across the country and came 
puffing into the city stations. 

Rhamon had heard many tales of the big cities 
on the other side of the mountains, but he had 
never seen them. The crumbling old city of 
Srinagar was the only one he knew. He had 
never been out of his valley that lay far up in 
the heart of the great mountains. In the winter 
the narrow mountain roads were often closed 
with snow. Then even the mail trucks could not 
come over them and the people in the high val¬ 
ley were shut off from news of the world below. 

Rhamon’s heart ached with the longing to be 
a man. He wanted to go down the mountains, 
to see the great cities and the steam trains. 

So busy was Rhamon with his top and the 
stories which filled his ears, he did not notice 
that the sun was slowly sinking. As the fiery 
ball slipped behind the mountains it touched 
the plumy clouds with gold, and streaked the 
soft blue sky with rosy banners. 


80 


He bade the Sahib good-by and returning the 
knife, jumped into the shi^ara which lay along¬ 
side. This was the time of day Rhamon liked 
best. As he paddled the short distance to his 
own little houseboat, he watched the reflections 
in the river. One sun up in the sky, and one 
down there in the water! 

Subro was resting on the tiny deck, smoking 
his hubble-bubble pipe. From the window drift¬ 
ed the spicy smell of curry. On the river bank 
close by, Rhamon’s mother was pounding the 
rice. Thud—thud—thud! came the heavy sound 
of the pole as she let it fall. Rhamon could hear, 
the jingle-jingle of her many silver bracelets. 

“Come here, Rhamon,” said Subro, as the 
shi\ara drew alongside. “I have been waiting to 
speak with you.” 

Rhamon looked up quickly into his father’s 
face. Was he to be scolded for staying away so 
long? But no, the brown eyes were smiling and 
kind. Rhamon tied the shi\ara and climbed up 
onto the deck. 


81 


“My son,” began Subro, “you have long 
wanted to go down the mountains to the big 
city. And now I am going to send you. My 
brother lives in Lahore and owns a shop there. 
He has asked me to send him an old perfume 
jar. I have at last found the kind he wishes. 
You were with me when I bought it from Sub- 
hanna. Now you shall take it to your uncle. 
You are old enough to be trusted as a man.” 

Rhamon’s heart thumped with joy and he 
felt that already he must have grown many 
inches—a man indeed! 

“But that is not all,” continued Subro, look¬ 
ing very tenderly at the happy face of his son. 
“On the day of the procession the good Rajah 
saw you and noticed your misfortune. And now 
he wishes to send you to the big city of Lahore. 
He believes the great doctor there will be able 
to make your foot right again, so that you can 
run like other boys.” 

“The Rajah!” exclaimed Rhamon breathless¬ 
ly. He did not even hear what his father had 


82 


« 





Subro was smoking 


his hubble-bubble pipe 








told him about his foot. The Rajah, interested 
in him! But why? 

Rhamon did not know of all that had hap¬ 
pened since that wonderful day on the river. 
But the Chief of Police had told Subro many 
things. The Rajah had been pleased by the sim¬ 
ple gift of the little boy. He had remembered 
the shining eyes and the bright smile. But he 
had also remembered Rhamon’s crippled foot. 

He had asked the Chief of Police the name 
of the boy who had been with him in the boat 
that day. And the Chief had told him how Rha¬ 
mon had helped him catch the thieves. 

All this Rhamon had not heard, and he stood 
there listening with open mouth and wondering 
happy eyes. “All because of my poor wreath,” 
he thought. 

“So now at last you are going to the big city, 
Rhamon,” said his father. “The American 
Sahib and Mem Sahib leave in three days and 
you shall go with them. My brother will see 
that you return safely.” 


84 



Chapter XI 


A MOUNTAIN STORM 
The day Rhamon started on his great adven¬ 
ture, the sky was dark and the rain was falling, 
falling. There was sunshine in his heart though, 
for was he not going to see the big city of his 
dreams? He hopped out of his father’s shikara 
on the muddy river bank and waved good-by. 
By the time he reached the big automobile that 
was to take him down the mountains, his 
clothes were wet, and big clumps of red clay 
stuck to his sandals. But when he was settled 


85 







in the front seat next to the friendly Indian 
driver, Rhamon was quite happy and he hugged 
the precious perfume jar tight in his arms. The 
Sahib and Mem Sahib climbed into the back and 
they were off. 

This was Rhamon’s first ride in a car, and he 
was so excited he could hardly sit still. Mile 
after mile they drove, along a wide road between 
two rows of tall green poplar trees. In the fields 
on each side peasants were working in the rice 
fields. 

An hour passed and still it rained. They 
were climbing now and the mountain roads grew 
narrower and more winding. Rhamon looked 
at the great cliffs that stretched up and up on 
one side. Then he looked down on the other 
side at the Jhelum River that rushed along its 
noisy way, far, far below them. 

It grew darker and darker. Lightning ripped 
the sky apart in blinding zigzag flashes. The 
pouring rain hammered against the car. Great 
claps of thunder shook the air and echoed 


86 



Lightning ripped the sky apart 





through the valleys. The wind whistled and 
shrieked. Rhamon saw huge trees crash and 
tumble down the mountainsides. 

Sometimes the car rushed dizzily around a 
narrow curve and up to the edge of nothing. 
Then Rhamon caught his breath and his heart 
stood still as he gazed through space. But be¬ 
fore he knew it they were past the curve and 
safely on their way again. 

At last the storm died away. The black clouds 
lifted, and the mountains, fresh washed, spar¬ 
kled in the sunshine. Rhamon could see the 
flocks of long-haired goats scrambling up and 
up. High in the blue sky was a soaring eagle, 
on its way perhaps to some lonely mountain 
nest. Through the green valley down below 
ran the chattering river, foaming over the 
rocks. On the hillsides rested the pink and 
white clouds of blossoming fruit trees. 

The car was climbing now, up and up into 
the mountains. The air grew colder and Rha¬ 
mon snuggled down under a warm woolen 


88 


blanket. Soon they reached the high Pir Panjal 
Pass between the mountains. Great peaks rose 
in silence above them. Patches of snow lay in 
the shadows. 

Then they started down on the other side. 
As they went lower the air grew warmer, and 
Rhamon came out from under his blanket. The 
roads here were dusty, for it had not rained on 
this side of the pass. Rhamon grew thirsty. 
How he longed for a drink of the water that 
tumbled down in shining waterfalls! 

Just then they whirled around a bend in the 
road. In front of them he saw a fairy spot where 
clear spring water fell like a sheet of sparkling 
rain. It dripped through a mass of green vines 
and hanging ferns. The car stopped and Rha¬ 
mon sprang out. In a moment he was splash¬ 
ing the cool water on his face and drinking it 
from the cup of his hands. 

While they rested there an old man wandered 
up to the car. His clothes were ragged and his 
white turban was covered with dust. In his 


89 


hands he carried a queer little three-stringed in¬ 
strument. Standing by the edge of the cliff he 
began to play. 

As he drew his bow across the strings a sweet 
strange music filled the air. It told of fairies 
dancing in the moonlight, of running water, of 
springtime flowers and sunshine. Rhamon stood 
beside him and listened. Now the music sang 
of the loneliness of the mountains, of the cold¬ 
ness of their icy peaks, of cruel storms and of 
people lost. 

Rhamon would have liked to stay longer, but 
he heard the Sahib calling his name, so he ran 
to the car and climbed into his seat. Soon they 
were driving down the narrow mountain road 
once more. The music of the strolling player 
was lost in the distance. 




Chapter XII 


THE FIRE-BREATHING MONSTER 
As the car came lower and Rhamon breathed 
the hot dusty air of the plains he began to wish 
he were back in his lovely high valley where 
the air was cool and sweet. Now they began to 
pass Oxcarts on' the road. Small houses made 
of dried mud bricks were scattered here and 
there. People went riding by in jouncing little 
horse carts. Soldiers were to be seen lolling 
about everywhere. The long trip down the 
mountain was ended. They had reached the 
city. 


91 


It was sunset time when the car pulled up 
near the station in Rawal Pindi. The Sahib 
and Mem Sahib climbed out, stretched their 
legs and brushed off the thick white dust. 
Rhamon hopped out too, and looked at the sink¬ 
ing sun. He must hurry and say his prayers. 

Placing the perfume jar in the Sahib's arms 
he ran to a street pump, splashed the water on 
his face and arms and washed off his feet. Then 
he saw, standing under a tree, another worship¬ 
per in the midst of his prayers. Rhamon knelt 
on the ground near him. Facing the Holy City 
he bowed his head to the ground many times 
and gave praise to Allah. And there was great 
thankfulness in his heart that he had come safely 
down the mountain. 

“We will spend the night here in Rawal Pin¬ 
di," said the Sahib, when they had finished their 
dinner. The next day when they went to take 
the train to Lahore, the station was crowded 
with people rushing this way and that, and car¬ 
rying huge bundles. “Those bundles are their 


92 


bedding rolls,” the Sahib told Rhamon. “At 
night they are spread out on the seats, and in 
the daytime they are put back in those big 
bags.” 

Suddenly there was a shrill whistle, and down 
the track Rhamon saw a great light coming 
closer and closer. Surely it was the eye of some 
giant beast that was roaring and thundering 
toward him. The creature let out another sharp 
scream. It was almost on top of him, this huge 
black fire-breathing monster, with a tail that 
stretched far along the track. Then with a hor¬ 
rible noise it slowly stopped and stood there 
puffing and hissing and blowing great clouds 
of steam into the air. It had fire in its insides 
too, for Rhamon could feel the heat and see the 
blaze. This was Rhamon’s first view of a rail¬ 
road train. 

“Come, Rhamon,” said the Sahib, and gave 
Rhamon a boost up the steep steps into one of 
the coaches. People were leaning out of the 
windows, buying things to eat, or talking to 


93 


friends. Passengers were crowding on with 
bags, bundles and bedding rolls. 

For a minute Rhamon lost sight of the Sahib 
and Mem Sahib. Then he saw them again on 
ahead. Holding his perfume jar, he pushed his 
way down the aisle. Suddenly the train started. 
There was a terrific jerk and Rhamon found 
himself in a heap on the floor. When he had 
straightened his turban and looked around, the 
train was rumbling on its way. He was glad 
when the Sahib took his hand and led him to a 
seat. 

The hot air was soon filled with smoke and 
cinders. The steady clackety-clack, clackety- 
clack, clackety-clack of the rolling wheels made 
Rhamon drowsy, and soon he was sound asleep, 
with his head resting against the Sahib’s shoul¬ 
der. 

He knew nothing more till someone gently 
shook him. “This is Lahore. We get off here,” 
said the Sahib. 


94 


Chapter XIII 

RHAMON DELIVERS THE 
PERFUME JAR 

Half-awake, Rhamon stumbled down the 
aisle. And then he remembered—he would see 
his uncle here. On the platform Rhamon was 
joggled and shoved about, and once his lovely 
turban was knocked down over his nose. He 
held tight to the Sahib’s hand for fear he would 
lose him in the crowd. 


95 





Men were running along beside the train with 
trays of things to sell, balanced on their heads. 
Some were filled with fruits, others with pots 
of tea. Some were piled with long-handled 
fans of braided reeds or round ones made of 
bright peacock feathers. The Sahib stopped 
one of the men and bought Rhamon a little bag 
of candied pumpkin and a small red clay pot 
filled with sweet sticky cakes trimmed with 
tiny bits of beaten silver. 

Suddenly Rhamon saw a tall man who looked 
like his father. He was glancing all about him 
as he came through the crowd. Then he saw 
Rhamon with the American Sahib and flashed 
them a smile. It was Rhamon’s uncle who owned 
the shop in Lahore. 

Now the American Sahib and the Mem Sahib 
were leaving, on another train. Already the 
porters were throwing their bags and bundles 
through the windows of one of the cars. Rha¬ 
mon had just time to say good-by before the 
Sahib jumped on the moving train. Slowly it 


96 


pulled out of the station snorting and blowing. 

Rhamon watched, and waved to the Sahib, 
who was leaning out of the window. Then he 
turned and looked up into his uncle’s smiling 
face. Hand in hand they walked out of the 
station. On the street his uncle hailed a tonga 
and they climbed into a small two-seated cart, 
pulled by a small and scraggy horse. 

For some time they jogged along through the 
big old city, a part of the busy, bustling traffic. 
Rhamon looked about him on all sides. He had 
never seen such wide streets, such fine buildings, 
such well-dressed people, so many cars. 

Then they passed through the great archway 
of one of the thirteen old city gates, and entered 
the native quarter. Here everything was differ¬ 
ent. Narrow dark little streets twisted this way 
and that. On each side as far as Rhamon could 
see there were high brick houses without win¬ 
dows, and endless rows of tiny shops. 

Cows and bullocks wandered up and down 
the smelly crowded lanes, stopping to snatch a 


97 


wisp of hay or nibble a vegetable at one of the 
market stalls. Loaded donkeys trotted past, 
squeaking oxcarts rumbled through the crowd, 
teams of water buffalo and flocks of sheep and 
goats took up the street. It was exciting and 
noisy and Rhamon loved it. 

In front of the small shops sat the merchants. 
Here a potter was making his red clay jars, spin¬ 
ning the big wheel with a bare brown foot. Just 
beyond were men dyeing cloth in great kettles, 
and their arms were colored to the elbows. 
Across the way, standing side by side, were 
meat markets, gold- and silversmiths, fish stalls, 
basket shops, spice sellers and makers of sweet¬ 
meats. Some were bending over small charcoal 
fires. High up on a bluff he could see a great 
old fort—hundreds of years old, his uncle said. 
Rhamon could hardly wait to get out by him¬ 
self. It would take him days, he thought, to 
explore all the wonderful sights. 

In one of these crooked little lanes Rhamon’s 
uncle had his shop. Here the tonga came to a 


98 


halt and they both got out. The tiny window 
of the shop was filled with shining brass bowls 
and pots, trays and candlesticks. Inside were 
many shelves of beautiful things made of silver, 
copper and brass. Until this moment Rhamon 
had held on to the perfume jar, but now he 
handed it thankfully to his uncle who smiled 
and took off its many wrappings. 

Truly it was a king among jars, tall and grace¬ 
ful and rich in color. Rhamon thought his uncle 
would never stop looking at it, tilting his head 
on one side and then on the other. At last he 
said, “Yes, the jar has great beauty. When you 
return, say to your father that he chose well. 
I have never seen one more perfect. It will 
please the prince for whom it was ordered.” 
And he set it up in the window of his shop. 



i 




Chapter XIV 

i 

AN EXCITING DAY IN THE BAZAAR 

The next morning Rharnon went with his 
uncle to see the city and buy some spices in the 
Bazaar. Rharnon had never seen such a big 
Bazaar. So, while his uncle was busy tasting 
and buying little bags of the strong, good-smell¬ 
ing spices, Rharnon slipped away. 

He wandered up and down and looked into all 
the little shops and open stalls that lined the 
packed and winding streets. Here and there he 



100 



stopped to watch a man sitting cross-legged on 
the ground, sewing or weaving, or hammering 
on a piece of metal. He listened to the bright- 
colored parrots that hung in cages by the door¬ 
ways and called to the tame monkeys that swung 
along the railings or dropped down from roof 
tops. He poked the lazy dogs that slept in the 
hot dust or snapped at the buzzing flies. 

Crowds of people passed him, coming and go¬ 
ing in a steady stream. Some were dressed in 
bright silk, some were dressed in rags, but few 
of them wore clothes like the garments he knew 
at home in the Valley. No one noticed Rhamon 
and he ran about gayly, dodging the noisy little 
horse carts that rattled their way through the 
narrow busy streets. 

Rhamon had some annas that jingled in his 
pockets, so he looked at the colored candies in 
this little shop, the sticky cakes in the next one, 
and the gay array of penknives in another. “I 
really need a penknife,” he thought, “one with 
a sharp blade that will cut the hardest root. 


101 


Then I can whittle myself a top that no one can 
crack. I would like to have a knife like the 
American Sahib’s.” He remembered how he 
had once seen the Sahib cut a stick clear through 
with one slash of his beautiful knife. Ah, that 
was a knife worth having! 

And so he stayed for a long time at this stall, 
looking first at one knife and then at another. 
But he could not find one like the Sahib’s beau¬ 
tiful shiny knife that had come all the way from 
America. 

As he went on through the Bazaar he saw a 
window full of wonderful tops. A splendid red 
and green one caught his eye, but he was sure 
it cost more than the four annas he had in his 
pocket. “I must bargain with this shopkeeper 
as the men do.” So he went inside, looked at 
several tops and asked their price. Then he 
picked up the lovely red and green one and asked 
how much it was. “What! Seven annas ? That 
is too much.” So he put the top down and 
walked out of the store. 


102 


*%*»i mi 



Crowds of people passed him coming and going 










“Six annas for you, boy,” the shopkeeper called 
after him. 

Rhamon laughed to himself and thought, 
“I’m pretty good.” He came back and looked 
at the top. “I will give you three annas for this 
top,” he said, winding it up for a spin. 

The shopkeeper threw up his hands in hor¬ 
ror. “Three annas\ And how shall a poor man 
live when he must sell his goods for so little? 
Oh woe, oh woe! I have no luck today.” Then 
as Rhamon started for the door again, he called, 
“Five annas and the top is yours.” 

“I shall look at tops farther down the street,” 
Rhamon answered, jingling the coins in his 
pocket. Now Rhamon wanted the top, so just 
as he reached the door he pulled out his money 
and said, “I will give you four annas for that 
top.” 

“Allah have mercy!” the old man muttered as 
he put the shiny top into Rhamon’s hand and 
gathered up the four annas with his bony fingers. 

But it would be hard to say who was the hap- 


104 


pier about the good bargain he had made, Rha- 
mon or the shopkeeper. 

At last Rhamon turned to go back to the stall 
where he had left his uncle buying spices. On 
the way he heard the sound of light fingers tap¬ 
ping on a drum, “Turn ta-ta tee turn; turn ta-ta 
tee turn.” Quickly he wriggled his way through 
the small crowd of people that was gathered 
around the music. He ducked between the 
widespread legs of a brass peddler, nearly up¬ 
setting his tray of goods. 

“You young rascal!” the old man screamed 
as he made a grab to catch Rhamon. But Rha¬ 
mon was too quick for him and had safely hid¬ 
den himself in front of a fat woman with a baby 
in her arms. Then he saw why the crowd was 
there. 

A man was squatting on the sidewalk playing 
on a small drum. In front of him a young girl 
danced to his music and to the clink of the sil¬ 
ver bells on her anklets. Her slender body 
swayed from side to side and her bare feet pad- 


105 


ded on the ground. Rhamon loved the music of 
her dancing feet. When she whirled, her skirts 
made a cloud of red and gold about her. A float¬ 
ing veil covered her face, so Rhamon could see 
only the flash of her great black eyes. Too soon 
the dance was ended and people tossed coins at 
her feet. 

Rhamon wished he had not spent his last anna 
for that top. He would have liked to reach into 
his pocket and toss a coin to the pretty dancer 
just like the other men. However, he moved 
away to meet his uncle. 

On the way home from the Bazaar Rhamon 
saw a man sitting on the ground, blowing fire 
out of his mouth. People were standing nearby 
watching him. Rhamon pulled his uncle's 
sleeve, “Look, the man is on fire!" 

“O-ho," said his uncle, “we must stop here 
and watch him. He is Mohammed Bukhs, and 
he can do tricks that will make you think he 
must be made of magic." 

All this time the trickster was puffing his 


106 



The trickster was makirig the flames shoot out 

from his lips 

t 




cheeks in and out, and in and out, like a pair of 
bellows, making the flames shoot out from his 
lips. Then he took the red coals out of his mouth 
and turned to his wife who was standing near 
him with a big basket. 

Now for another trick. Rharnon watched him 
tie her hands together and fasten her inside of 
a strong rope net. Then he picked her up and 
stuck her feet first through a small hole in the 
top of the basket. She wriggled and squirmed 
her way down inside. Mohammed, the trick¬ 
ster, put a cloth over the hole. The basket be¬ 
gan to wobble, then—out popped the net. 

“Now how did she get out of that?” thought 
Rharnon. 

At this moment Mohammed jumped into the 
basket with both feet and stamped about to show 
there couldn’t be anybody inside. Where was 
his wife? Just to be sure she wasn’t there he 
got out, and taking up a long sharp sword, 
plunged it into the basket, this way and that, 
in and out, again and again. 


108 


“What is happening to the poor lady inside?” 
asked Rhamon. 

“Wait a moment and you will find out,” said 
his uncle, who had seen the trick before. 

Sure enough, the basket began to wriggle and 
roll from side to side. Then Mohammed’s wife 
squeezed herself out through the top and stood 
there looking very hot but not the least bit hurt. 

All the way home Rhamon thought about that 
trick, but he couldn’t figure it out. With his 
own eyes he had seen the swords go through the 
basket, yet the man’s wife was inside! 

It had been a long and busy day for Rhamon 
and he was tired when he crawled into his little 
bed that night. His foot ached, and he thought 
how glad he would be if the good doctor was 
able to make it right, so he could walk and run 
without getting tired. 


109 



Chapter XV 
SNAKE CHARMERS 
Rhamon had learned to say his prayers at 
home with his father. Five times each day they 
said them, for they were good Mohammedans. 
Every morning at the break of day, every eve¬ 
ning when the sun set, and three times in be¬ 
tween, he faced the holy city of Mecca. Then 
kneeling down, he touched his forehead to the 
ground again and again, and gave praise to 
Allah. 


110 


But Rhamon had never been inside one of the 
big Mosques where Mohammedans go to pray. 
So when Friday came his uncle took him with 
him. All about the Mosque were beggars and 
cripples and blind people, and many with things 
to sell. Holding his uncle’s hand, Rhamon 
passed through the splendid entrance, all cov¬ 
ered with tiny blue, green, and orange stones. 

In the courtyard were many people, some say¬ 
ing their prayers, others washing themselves. 
Rhamon and his uncle left their slippers beside 
a pool and like all the others bathed their faces 
and arms, then chests and feet. They must be 
clean before they prayed. Rhamon gazed up at 
the great dome sparkling in the sunlight and the 
high slender towers capped in gleaming gold. 

“Soon,” his uncle told him, “the Muezzin will 
come out on the top of one of those towers and 
you will hear him calling the faithful to their 
prayers.” 

It was as his uncle had said. While they stood 
there a tiny figure appeared high up on the 


111 


tower. Then Rhamon heard a beautiful voice 
sing, “Allah LJ Akjbar! La-ee-la-ha III Allah! There 
is but one God and Mohammed is his prophet.” 
From every side people were coming to the 
Mosque in answer to his call. 

Rhamon looked up and all he could see was 
the face and black beard of the Muezzin. “Ah, 
it must be fine,” he thought, “to stand so far up 
there and sing like that! Some day I shall be 
a Muezzin and stand on a high tower to call the 
faithful to their prayers.” 

Then with all the other worshippers he en¬ 
tered the great Mosque. Each man went to his 
own special place to pray. Many had small rugs 
on which they kneeled. And all were facing in 
the same direction, toward the holy city of 
Mecca. 

Soon the priest came, and standing in the 
small high pulpit led the prayers. Rhamon, 
kneeling on the prayer rug beside his uncle, 
prayed too, touching his head to the ground 
again and again. He listened to the great sound 


112 


“What is happening to the poor lady inside?” 
asked Rhamon. 

“Wait a moment and you will find out,” said 
his uncle, who had seen the trick before. 

Sure enough, the basket began to wriggle and 
roll from side to side. Then Mohammed’s wife 
squeezed herself out through the top and stood 
there looking very hot but not the least bit hurt. 

All the way home Rhamon thought about that 
trick, but he couldn’t figure it out. With his 
own eyes he had seen the swords go through the 
basket, yet the man’s wife was inside! 

It had been a long and busy day for Rhamon 
and he was tired when he crawled into his little 
bed that night. His foot ached, and he thought 
how glad he would be if the good doctor was 
able to make it right, so he could walk and run 
without getting tired. 


109 


“Those men are snake charmers,” said his 
uncle. “Their fathers and grandfathers before 
them were snake charmers. They have a strange 
power over snakes. Even the most deadly one 
will not hurt them. And when they play their 
flutes the snakes must dance.” 

Rhamon listened and waited to see what 
would happen. Guests of the prince who had 
been walking in the garden now came over and 
gathered round the snake charmers to watch 
what they were doing. 

The strange music of the flutes went on and 
on. Rhamon’s eyes were fastened on the baskets. 
The music swelled and he saw the tops of the 
baskets slowly rise and fall to one side. A queer 
feeling arose in his stomach and he held tight 
to his uncle’s hand. Then suddenly two snakes 
thrust their great heads out of the baskets. 
Slowly they uncoiled and waved back and forth. 
Rhamon could see their beady little eyes fixed 
on their masters. 

As the music grew louder, one of the snakes 


114 


slid out of his basket and coiled up on the grass. 
He was many feet long. The snakes seemed to 
be under a magic spell and swayed in time with 
the music. Rhamon too was lost in the spell of 
the snake charmers. 

Suddenly the music stopped and the snakes, 
free from its magic, started to glide away over 
the ground. With little cries the people scat¬ 
tered. But the two men were not afraid. They 
laughed, picked up the snakes and tucked them 
back into their baskets. Then they collected their 
money from the people who had gathered to 
watch them, salaamed, and in another moment 
were lost in the crowds of the streets. 




Chapter XVI 

ALL IS WELL FOR RHAMON 
Rhamon was having such a good time visit¬ 
ing his uncle that he almost forgot the real rea¬ 
son he had come to Lahore. But one morning 
the great doctor arrived in the little brass shop. 

“I have heard from the Rajah,” he told Rha- 
mon’s uncle. “And now I have come to take 
this young man to the hospital.” 


116 



A chill raced down Rhamon’s spine. The hos¬ 
pital! But when he looked up and saw the kind¬ 
ly eyes smiling at him, he was no longer afraid. 
He put his hand into the big doctor’s, and felt 
quite willing to go with him anywhere, even 
to the hospital. 

“You are in good hands, Rhamon,” said his 
uncle. “You have nothing to fear.” Then he 
gave Rhamon a small flat box. “It is a present 
from the American Sahib. He told me to give 
it to you the day that you went to the hospital.” 

Rhamon tore open the box and there lay the 
thing he had most wished for — the beautiful 
American penknife! “This will be my good- 
luck,” he thought, and with a sigh of happiness, 
put it into his pocket. 

Everything about the hospital was strange to 
Rhamon, the clean strong smell of the place, the 
nurses, the doctors, and the high bed with the 
white sheets, on which he slept. But his bright 
smile won him many friends and soon he felt 
quite happy. 


117 


The next day, the doctor said he must operate 
on Rhamon’s foot. The nurses wheeled him 
into the special room where the big doctor stood 
ready, all dressed in white. 

But Rhamon was not afraid. “See, I have my 
good-luck with me,” he said, smiling and open¬ 
ing his hand to show the doctor his American 
penknife. 

“Yes, you are right,” said the doctor, smiling 
too. “Your good-luck will be with you.” The 
nurse put a mask over his face and told him to 
breathe deep. A queer smell filled his nostrils. 
After that, Rhamon did not know anything more 
till he found himself back in bed with his foot 
wrapped up in yards and yards of bandages. 

For many days he stayed in the hospital, but 
when he finally left with his uncle, he walked 
out on two good solid feet, as good and strong 
as any boy’s in India! 

“I think my penknife did bring me good luck,” 
said Rhamon reaching into his pocket to make 
sure it was still there. 


118 


“Yes, perhaps it did,” said his uncle, “but you 
must not forget to give thanks to Allah, for the 
kindness of the Rajah and the skill of the great 
doctor.” 

Rhamon nodded his head and walked on, glad 
to be out again in the fresh air and sunshine. 







Chapter XVII 

GOING HOME WITH THE ROAD GANG 


All too soon the day arrived for Rhamon to 
start home again. He went back to Rawal Pindi 
with his uncle, and there he was put in the care 
of a gang of workmen who were being sent up 
into the mountains to repair the roads. In one 
place a bridge had been washed away by the 
heavy rains. In another, mud and rocks had 
fallen down onto the roads from the high cliffs 
overhead. There were nearly a hundred men 


120 



in the gang and they traveled in heavy covered 
carts pulled by sleepy-looking oxen. The lum¬ 
bering animals traveled slowly and rested often, 
for the roads were steep. 

At night the oxen were unhitched and lay 
down beside the carts. Then Rhamon liked to 
help the men take the sweet-smelling hay from 
the lower parts of the wagons and feed the ani¬ 
mals. After they were fed, fires were built all 
along the road and the men cooked their eve¬ 
ning meal. 

Rhamon ate with them and listened to their 
talk. When his eyes grew heavy he crept under 
his covers in the top part of one of the wagons. 
Then he drifted off to sleep hearing the friendly 
crackle of the fires, the low voices of the men and 
the soft breathing of the oxen. 

After seven days of travel like this the work¬ 
men reached the spot where the bridge was 
broken. Here the big mail-truck had been 
stopped on its way down. And here Rhamon 
said good-by to the workmen who had become 


121 


his friends. They had brought the mail up this 
far with them, and Rhamon was to go on the 
rest of the way with the mail truck which would 
turn back now to Srinagar. 

When he finally reached Srinagar and jumped 
down from the mail truck he saw the tall, white- 
robed figure of his father, waiting to meet him. 
Subro picked Rhamon up oft' his feet and gave 
him a great hug, then set him down again, say¬ 
ing over and over again, “Allah be praised! 
Allah be praised!” 

Just as they stepped into Subro’s shikara to 
paddle home, the Chief of Police rushed up, the 
end of his great turban flying in the breeze. He 
slapped Rhamon on the back, then rubbed his 
big nose and twirled his black moustache. “Now 
you will surely be a Chief of Police!” he shouted, 
“and not a thief shall escape you!” 

Then as the boat pulled away Rhamon heard 
him begin to laugh—that hearty laugh which 
he was sure always started away down in the 
the tips of his uncle’s red leather slippers. 


122 



Subro picked Rhamon up in his arms 



When Rhamon climbed out on the deck of 
his own houseboat his mother put her arm 
around him. For a long time she didn’t say any¬ 
thing. Wasn’t she glad to see him? Under her 
long black lashes he couldn’t tell whether she 
was laughing or crying. But that night when 
she cooked supper and he sat on the little rug 
in the corner listening to her singing, he thought 
she sounded happier than ever before. 

After they had all eaten their evening meal 
Rhamon told Subro and his mother of the many 
wonderful sights he had seen in the big city: 
the snorting steam train, the great Mosque 
where he had said his prayers, the busy Bazaar 
with its hundreds of shops, the strange men who 
charmed the poison snakes, and his trip up the 
mountains with the gang of workmen. 

Before he went to sleep he tucked his beau¬ 
tiful American penknife under his pillow. After 
all it was good to be home again on his house¬ 
boat — to see the stars from his window and 
the lights of the little Temple on the hill. 


124 


As the days passed, Rhamon grew and learned 
to do all the things that the men could do. He 
helped his father with the houseboats. He 
learned to work in the market gardens, to gather 
driftwood in the river, to swim, to fish, and to 
hunt. 

Some day Rhamon will be a man. Then he 
will have a long black beard. He will wear rus¬ 
tling white garments and smoke a big water 
pipe. Perhaps he will be the Rajah’s head boat¬ 
man, perhaps he will be a Chief of Police. And 
perhaps he will own fine houseboats on the river 
like his father. 



, 

























KASHMIRI WORDS 


Srinagar 

S(u)r-in-ag'-ar 

Rhamon 

Rha-mon 

Subro 

Soo'-bro 

chupatti 

chu-pat-ti 

shikara 

shl-ka'-ra 

tonga 

tong-ga 


Pronunciation 

a as in far 
a as in Vera 
oo as in moon 
I as in tin 
u as in pull 
o as in cot 


127 


















































































































































































































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I 1 1 


































